


Adolescence Revisited

by springgreen



Category: Honey and Clover
Genre: Character Study, Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, F/M, Gift Fic, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-09
Updated: 2007-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springgreen/pseuds/springgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoils the entire series.</p><p>Nomiya battles once again with a suit he long thought he had outgrown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adolescence Revisited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rilina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Calls that Yamada Received (and One She Didn't)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325) by [rilina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilina/pseuds/rilina). 



> This is for Rilina, whose [fic](http://rilina-fic.livejournal.com/13105.html) also served as an inspiration. And thanks so much to Vonnie and Jinian for beta-ing!

"Hello? This is Yamada."

"Yamada-san, how are you doing?"

"Ah, Nomiya-san! I'm doing well, thank you! I've been teaching Hagu-chan how to use the wheel, and—"

"And Mayama left for Spain last night?"

"I-I-I didn't want to bother you."

"Didn't I ask you to call?"

"... yes, but..."

"Yamada-san."

"Yes?"

"You're not a bother."

"Oh."

"Would you like me to come over?"

"... yes. Please."

"I'll be right there."

* * *

Nomiya was good at hurting people; he knew this. He had taken courses in sarcasm and majored in world-weariness: he held a degree in detachment.

Mayama, on the other hand, could probably use a little more detachment. Mayama wore his heart not just on his sleeve, but pinned to his back with the words "Kick me" written on it in permanent marker. Nomiya wrote off Mayama as one of those earnest types who tried too hard and accomplished too little; he mocked Mayama's attempts to woo Rika; he laughed as he remembered his own suit of adolescence, handily buried out of sight in a dark, dusty corner of his closet.

And then, on a hot summer night, in the midst of takoyaki stands and tinny music, he met Yamada Ayumi.

She was beautiful: long hair and longer legs, flustered smile and pink blushes. He had expected as much from Mayama's rather ineffective but very funny attempts to keep him away. (Possibly Mayama saw himself in Nomiya; Nomiya was too disturbed by this to ponder further.) But he had not expected the rawness beneath the beauty.

He retracted what he thought about Mayama and hearts pinned on backs: Yamada-san had hammered a knife through hers and doctored it with salt and hydrogen peroxide.

* * *

"Hello? This is Yamada."

"Yamada-san, how are you doing?"

"Ah, Nomiya-san! I was actually just about to call you."

"Really?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised!"

"But I am surprised. That is, it's a good surprised... What happened?"

"Um."

"Yamada-san, for the twenty-third time, you're not a bother."

"I just... I worry about Hagu-chan. She tries and tries and tries, and she still can't hold anything finer than a fat marker. And Sensei just watches and watches, and he never says anything. I try, but I can't give her what she wants most, and I'm tired and lonely and if I'm any more encouraging, I'll cry. But I can't tell Hagu-chan this, not when she's working so hard.

"I miss Takemoto-kun, and how he would watch over her as well. I even miss Morita-sempai. And... I wish Mayama were here.

"I'm sorry, Nomiya-san. It's just... you and Miwako-san and Yamazaki-san have been wonderful, but...

"Nomiya-san?"

"Yes? I'm still here."

"Thank you."

"I'll be here for a good while."

"Thank you."

"You can be tired and lonely, and you can cry with me."

"Thank you."

* * *

The night before Mayama left for Spain, he invited Nomiya to dinner.

Mayama said very little at first, so Nomiya listened to the sizzle of steaks on hot metal plates, his own chewing, and his own drawled words. Nomiya tried not to needle Mayama quite as much, especially since Nomiya had just re-donned his suit of adolescence. But he hadn't tried very hard.

After Nomiya gave up on conversation and shoveled half of his fried egg in his mouth, Mayama made his move.

"Don't you dare hurt Yamada when I'm gone. Don't take her to dinner, don't drive her places, don't call her. And don't spend the night with her! Again!"

"She reeked," Nomiya muttered. "I had to watch her vomit."

"Don't make fun of her, either!"

"Am I that bad?" Nomiya asked, mostly to himself.

"Look," Mayama said, vehemently shoving his glasses up his nose, "just... just be kind. She's very important to me."

Reflexively, Nomiya adjusted his own glasses and tried to stare Mayama down.

But Mayama just grabbed the bill and left. Nomiya sat as the waiter cleared the table, annoyed that he had let someone younger pay for his meal.

Be kind, Mayama had said, and Nomiya suddenly wished he were the other Takumi.

* * *

"Hello? This is Yamada."

"You called?"

"Ah, yes! Yes, I did. How did you know?"

"My cell phone displays the name of callers if they're already in my phone book."

"Stop laughing! I didn't realize! ...I'm in your phone book?"

"Miwako-san programmed it in."

"Nomiya-san! You're lying!"

"Possibly."

"Um, Nomiya-san?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think you would still love me even if I didn't love Mayama?"

"Well... What do _you_ think?"

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Um, Nomiya-san?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think you would have fallen in love with me if I hadn't loved Mayama?"

"Yamada-san, you don't like easy questions, do you?"

"A-aah, sorry!"

"Would you still like Hanamoto-san if she had never painted?"

"Of course I would! But... Hagu-chan not having painted... Even if she never paints again, even if... Oh."

"Aaah, yes."

"Oh."

"Yamada-san?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, you can leave a message too. Though maybe not with this kind of question."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry!"

* * *

So he walked Leader while carefully staying three steps behind her when she left the Fujiwara Design office; he ate her bizarre concoctions of what by no stretch of the imagination was actually food; he brought her cheap instant coffee in the midst of heroic pottery efforts; and he waited.

He got up every morning and chose whether or not to don his now-rusted armor, and more and more, he found that he went out without it, clad only in that damn suit. And gradually, he began to notice that it wasn't the same suit, and he groaned, embarrassed. Even earnest Mayama had not shed one suit of adolescence only to find another suit—of post-adolescence? he wondered—and to mistake it for the first.

So he hurt them both with the double-edged blade that was his tongue; he suffered the sparkly glimmer in Yamazaki's eyes and lived in fear of Miwako-san discovering that he wore a different suit; he cautiously reached over to stroke Yamada-san's hair when she worried about her friend Hanamoto-san; and he waited.

And on one most ordinary day, she rested her head against his shoulder for a few seconds, and he wryly smiled at his inner self's somersaults of delight.

* * *

"Hello. This is Nomiya."

"Oh! Uh... you picked up!"

"Er, yes. People tend to pick up phone calls. Is this Yamada-san?"

"Um, yes. I mean, hi! How are you?"

"Amused. You?"

"I was happy, but now I'm mad at you!"

"Sorry."

"Pbbbbtttt."

"Did you have any more awkward questions that you wanted to ask?"

"No! I wouldn't— I mean, I did, but— Oh, never mind."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes! I wanted to call you some time when I didn't miss Mayama so you couldn't yell at me so much."

"Aaah. So you don't?"

"I don't what?"

"Miss Mayama?"

"Nomiya-san! That's not fair."

"Ah, but I'm never fair. So. Do you? Not miss him?"

"Well... I miss him a little. But today, more like... more like a friend. Like how I miss Takemoto-kun and Morita-sempai."

"Ah, I see."

"I'm sorry, Nomiya-san. It might change again tomorrow."

"Yes. I know."

"So I wanted to call you today."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Oh. Thank you."

* * *

"I'm Hanamoto Hagumi, pleased to meet you," said the blonde girl quietly.

"Hanamoto-san, I've heard so much about you," Nomiya said. She started. "It's very good to finally meet you."

They stared at each other for a while; Nomiya guessed that Hanamoto-san was shy and didn't hate small talk like he did.

"How is your hand?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh! I think it's getting better," she said, but he wasn't sure if she was being polite or not.

Thankfully, at that point, Yamada-san returned to set them both up at the wheels.

Nomiya shooed Yamada-san away when she hovered over him for a while, and she quickly ran over to help Hanamoto-san. He let their conversation fade into the background, concentrating instead on the whir of the wheel, the pedal at his foot, the slick reddish clay under his fingers.

He heard them laughing—at him, he thought—and he glared.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

They giggled some more, Yamada-san elbowing Hanamoto-san and furiously whispering in her ear.

"U-um. Your glasses! And your nose!" Hanamoto-san managed to say, before dissolving once more into giggles.

"My gla—" he said, as he pushed them up and smeared (even more) clay on them. "Oh."

"His nose! Like a clown!" he thought Hanamoto-san said, in a voice so high-pitched that he only caught the tail end.

"I think she likes you," Yamada-san told him later. "Though she thought you were scary at first."

Nomiya gathered the forlorn tatters of his dignity together and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"She's important to you," he said. Then: "A clown?"

* * *

"Hello. This is Nomiya."

"Nomiya-san! This is Yamada."

"Aah, how are you?"

"Go to the balcony."

"Sorry? I'm in the middle of— Hey! Let go of that!"

"Yamada-san? Hello! This is Miwako! Nomiya is just being childish as usual. Don't worry, I'm making him go out right now!"

"E-eh... thank you, Miwako-san! Nomiya-san? Nomiya-san? Are you there?"

"Hi. I'm on the balcony now."

"HIIIII!!!!"

"Is that— Are you holding a picnic basket?"

"Yes! Come down! I made soy sauce chicken with strawberries and yogurt, and tomato-chocolate-azuki-bean soup, and..."

"I'm coming down. My reception might cut out in the elevator though."

"... and omelette-rice topped with raspberry jam, and... oh!"

"Hello," Nomiya said into his phone as he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hi!"

She smiled at him, and he easily suppressed four pointed variations on this being the first time she'd truly been happy for his company, because she was now. And, he admitted finally, he might have been wrong about the other times as well.

"What are you staring at?" she asked, still into the phone.

"Nothing," he said as he hung up his phone, reached over to hang up her phone, and then took the picnic basket from her.

"Then let's go!" She tugged first at the picnic basket, and when he wouldn't move, she grabbed his free hand and dragged him forward. "Hurry, or we won't get a good spot by the fountain!"

Nomiya found himself relaxing in his yet-unnamed new suit as he tried to keep up with Yamada-san. He laughed—it was so high school, he thought, so shoujo manga, so movie-esque, so cliched, so adolescent.

And so very, very wonderful.


End file.
